Tag: Thankful

Your Attitude Matters

Today’s a new day!

The only difference between a good day and a bad day is often your attitude. You cannot control every circumstance, every disappointment, or every storm that comes your way, but you can choose how you respond.

Some days will be harder than others. Some mornings you will wake up ready to conquer the world, while other mornings simply getting out of bed will feel like a victory. But every day is another opportunity to find hope, show kindness, love others, and make a difference.

You may not get to choose what happens today, but you can choose the attitude you bring into it.

Start your day with gratitude, walk in faith, give yourself grace, and remember that God is still at work—even on the difficult days.

Keep smiling. Keep believing. Keep overcoming.

TODAY IS A GIFT FROM GOD. MAKE IT COUNT! ~OC

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If Tomorrow Wasn’t Promised, What Would You Give Today?

Today’s a new day!

We spend so much time worrying about tomorrow that we forget to appreciate the gift we’ve been given today. We put off the phone calls, postpone the hugs, hold back the words “I love you,” and wait for the perfect moment to live the life God has given us.

But what if tomorrow never comes?

Today is a gift. That’s why we call it the present. 

Love a little deeper. Forgive a little quicker. Laugh a little louder. Encourage someone who is struggling. Tell your family and friends how much they mean to you. And most importantly, thank God for the breath in your lungs and the opportunity to make a difference in someone’s life.

You don’t have to change the entire world today. You just have to make a difference in the world God has placed right in front of you.

Remember, yesterday is gone, tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, but today is your opportunity.

Don’t just count your days. Make your days count. Live with purpose, love with abandon, walk by faith, and never take another breath for granted.

KEEP FIGHTING. KEEP BELIEVING. KEEP OVERCOMING. ~OC

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Why Am I Still Alive?

Today’s a new day!

Twenty-four years. Multiple diagnoses. Countless tests, treatments, surgeries, hospitalizations, and moments when the future looked anything but certain. And somehow, by the grace of God, I am still here.

Sometimes I sit back and ask myself a question that I don’t always know how to answer.

WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

I’m not asking that question for attention. I’m not asking it because I want people to feel sorry for me. And I’m certainly not asking it because I believe I’m stronger than someone else who didn’t survive their battle.

I’m asking because, after everything my body has endured over the last twenty-four years, there are moments when I honestly don’t understand how I’m still standing.

I’ve lived with multiple life threatening health issues. I have experienced moments when my health has deteriorated so badly that living another day wasn’t something I could take for granted.

I’ve heard the medical predictions. I’ve faced the uncertainty. I’ve endured the pain, the exhaustion, and the frustration of watching my body struggle to do things that once came naturally.

I’ve experienced moments when speaking was difficult, when my body wouldn’t cooperate, and when the future seemed to be slipping away from me.

I’ve spent time in intensive care. I’ve faced hospitalizations when things didn’t look good. I’ve experienced the kind of physical suffering that is difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t walked a similar road.

And through it all, one question continues to follow me.

WHY HAS GOD ALLOWED ME TO LIVE WHEN SO MANY TIMES IT SEEMED LIKE MY STORY SHOULD HAVE ENDED?

I wish I had a simple answer.

I don’t.

But I know this: JESUS. ONLY JESUS.

I’m not claiming that I understand every medical explanation, every close call, or every reason I’ve survived. I’m not suggesting that faith means we never need doctors, medicine, treatments, or the hands of medical professionals. God has worked through many of those people and resources in my life, and I am grateful for them.

I’m also not going to pretend that every day is a victory lap.

Some days hurt. Some nights seem endless. There are moments when the exhaustion runs deeper than words can explain. There are things I miss about the life I once had, and there are battles I never imagined I would have to fight.

My faith doesn’t make me immune to fear, frustration, grief, or questions.

Faith simply gives me somewhere to take those things.

I take them to Jesus.

Sometimes my prayers are long and full of words. Other times, all I can manage is a whisper. And sometimes, when I don’t have the strength to say anything at all, I simply hold on to the truth that He is still there.

I have learned that you don’t have to understand everything God is doing to trust Him with your life.

You don’t have to feel strong to keep believing.

And you don’t have to pretend everything is okay to have genuine faith.

I’M STILL HERE, BUT I’M NOT GOING TO PRETEND I KNOW WHY.

People sometimes talk about surviving as though it automatically makes someone a hero. But I don’t see myself that way.

I’m a husband. I’m a son. I’m a friend. I’m a child of God.

I’m a man who has experienced more medical battles than he ever expected, a man who has had to learn how to live with a body that doesn’t always cooperate, and a man who still has questions about what tomorrow might bring.

I’m not alive because I figured out some secret to beating every illness.

I’m not alive because I never became afraid.

And I’m certainly not alive because I have somehow earned more of God’s favor than someone who lost their battle.

I am still here, and I am deeply grateful for every additional day I have been given.

I believe Jesus has carried me through moments when I didn’t have the strength to carry myself. I believe His presence has sustained me when the circumstances around me offered very little comfort. I believe there is still purpose in loving people, encouraging others, sharing my faith, and telling the truth about what it means to walk through suffering.

But I cannot tell you with certainty why my story continues while someone else’s ended.

I won’t pretend to know God’s complete plan.

What I can tell you is that my survival has made me more aware of how precious life is, how fragile our bodies can be, and how desperately we need grace.

I no longer want to waste my life chasing things that don’t matter.

I want to love my wife well. I want to encourage the brokenhearted. I want to stand beside people who feel forgotten. I want to remind those who are struggling that their diagnoses do not erase their dignity, their value, or their identity.

I want people to see Jesus in the way I live, not simply in the words I write.

If I have another twenty years, I want to use them well.

If I have twenty more days, I want to use them well.

And if tomorrow brings another medical battle, I pray I will face it with the same Savior who has sustained me through the battles behind me.

Because the number of days I have left is not something I can control.

What I do with the day I’ve been given is something I can choose.

JESUS NEVER PROMISED ME AN EASY ROAD.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that following Jesus doesn’t mean we get to skip suffering.

Faithful people get sick.

Faithful people experience pain.

Faithful people sit beside hospital beds, receive devastating diagnoses, and sometimes bury the people they prayed would be healed.

And sometimes, despite our most desperate prayers, the outcome isn’t what we hoped for.

I believe in miracles. I’ve experienced moments in my own journey that I can only describe as miraculous. I believe God can heal, restore, strengthen, and do things beyond our understanding.

But I also believe that Jesus is worthy of our trust when healing doesn’t come the way we prayed it would.

My faith cannot depend entirely on whether my body gets better.

If I make physical healing the only evidence of God’s goodness, what happens on the days when my symptoms worsen? What happens when another diagnosis arrives? What happens when I wake up hurting?

Does that mean God has abandoned me?

No.

My circumstances may change. My physical abilities may change. My future may look different from the one I imagined.

But my identity in Christ does not depend on the condition of my body.

Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 12:9 that God’s grace is sufficient and that His power is made perfect in weakness.

That Scripture means something different to me now than it did before I became seriously ill.

I understand that weakness isn’t always something we overcome in the way we hoped. Sometimes weakness is something we learn to live with while discovering that God’s grace is still sufficient.

Sometimes overcoming means getting out of bed.

Sometimes it means enduring another treatment.

Sometimes it means asking for help when our pride tells us not to.

Sometimes it means crying, praying, and getting through one more difficult day.

And sometimes, overcoming simply means refusing to believe that our suffering has made our lives meaningless.

I AM STILL AN OVERCOMER, EVEN ON THE DAYS WHEN I FEEL OVERWHELMED.

Not because I always win the battles I fight, but because my identity is rooted in the One who holds me through them.

SO, WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

After twenty-four years of health battles, I could give you a dozen answers.

Medical professionals have treated me. My wife, Laura, has stood beside me through more than most people could imagine. Family and friends have prayed for me. People have encouraged me when I needed encouragement.

I am grateful for every single one of them.

But when I look back over the moments when I wondered whether I would survive, when I think about the times I had almost nothing left to give, and when I consider how much of this journey has been beyond my control, I keep coming back to the same place.

JESUS.

Not because I can explain every moment.

Not because I know what tomorrow holds.

Not because I believe I am guaranteed another miracle.

But because, in the middle of all my unanswered questions, He remains the foundation of my faith.

I don’t know how many more years I have.

I don’t know what the next diagnosis, treatment, or hospitalization might bring.

I don’t know whether the hardest part of my journey is behind me or still ahead.

But I know I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left living in fear of what might happen.

I want to live with purpose.

I want to love deeply.

I want to forgive freely.

I want to encourage relentlessly.

I want to tell people about the hope I’ve found in Jesus without pretending that following Him makes life easy.

And I want to remind people who are fighting battles of their own that they are more than the worst thing that has happened to them.

You are more than your diagnosis.

You are more than your mistakes.

You are more than the opinions of people who don’t understand your journey.

And you are not forgotten simply because your life looks different from the one you imagined.

I cannot promise you that everything will work out the way you want it to. I cannot promise that every prayer will be answered in the way you hope.

But I can tell you that you do not have to walk through your suffering alone.

Jesus meets us in the broken places. He gives us grace for the moments when we have none left to give ourselves. And He reminds us that our worth was never determined by our strength, our health, or our ability to keep everything together.

I am still here. I am still fighting. I am still believing. And I am still trusting Jesus.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because I know where to turn when I don’t.

Twenty-four years ago, I could never have imagined the road I would travel. I never would have chosen it. I would never wish these battles on anyone.

But I am here.

And as long as I am here, I want my life to point beyond me.

I want people to see more than a man with multiple medical diagnoses. I want them to see a husband who loves his wife, a friend who cares about people, a man who still believes in the power of prayer, and a child of God who is learning to trust Jesus one day at a time.

I don’t need to understand every chapter to be grateful that my story is still being written.

And I don’t need to know how many pages remain to make the next one count.

WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

I don’t know the complete answer.

But I know who I am trusting with the question.

His name is Jesus.

And until He calls me home, I will keep loving, keep serving, keep believing, keep encouraging, and keep overcoming.

Not perfectly.

Not without pain.

Not without questions.

But by His grace, one day at a time.

ONLY JESUS KNOWS WHY I’M STILL HERE. SO, JESUS, WHILE I’M HERE, PLEASE HELP ME MAKE MY LIFE COUNT.

“For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” — Philippians 1:21

KEEP FIGHTING. KEEP BELIEVING. KEEP LOVING. KEEP OVERCOMING.

Your health issues may be part of your story, but they do not get to define the entirety of your life. Your story is still about the person you love, the people you encourage, the grace you extend, and the Jesus you follow.

— A Blessed Overcomer, still walking by faith. ~OC

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Who Is Your Tribe?

When the storms of life hit, who will still be standing beside you?

Let me ask you a few questions.

Who is your tribe? Who is your 3 a.m. phone call? Who are the people you can count on when life falls apart?

Not the people who show up when everything is going well. Not the people who celebrate your victories, enjoy your success, or want to be around when life is easy.

I’m talking about the people who show up when the diagnosis comes. When the phone rings with bad news. When the bills pile up, the tears won’t stop, your faith is being tested, and you don’t know how you’re going to make it through another day.

WHO ARE YOUR PEOPLE?

Life has a way of revealing who truly belongs in your tribe. Sometimes, it takes a storm to discover who is willing to stand with you in the rain.

Some people will pray for you from a distance. Others will get down in the trenches and pray beside you. Some will tell you they’re there for you, while others will quietly show up and prove it.

And sometimes, the greatest gift someone can give you isn’t advice, a Bible verse, or a promise that everything will be okay.

Sometimes, it’s simply their presence.

It’s the person who answers the phone at 3 a.m. It’s the friend who sits with you in a hospital room. It’s the person who checks on you when everyone else has moved on. It’s the one who reminds you of God’s faithfulness when you’re struggling to remember it yourself.

Those people are precious. Love them. Appreciate them. Thank God for them.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 reminds us that two are better than one because when one falls, the other can help them up.

That’s what community looks like. That’s what friendship looks like. That’s what being the hands and feet of Jesus looks like.

But here’s something else we need to remember.

While we’re asking who our tribe is, we also need to ask ourselves a difficult question:

ARE WE SOMEBODY ELSE’S TRIBE?

Are we the person who answers the phone when someone is hurting? Are we willing to sit beside someone in their darkest hour without trying to fix everything? Are we checking on the people who always say they’re fine but might be falling apart inside?

It’s easy to say, “I’m praying for you.”

It’s harder to show up, stay present, and walk beside someone through a storm that might last months or even years.

Jesus never promised us a life without storms. But He showed us what love looks like in the middle of them.

And sometimes, God answers our prayers for help through the people He places in our lives.

I’ve learned that life isn’t about how many people know your name, how many friends you have on social media, or how many people celebrate your victories.

It’s about the people who love you when you have nothing to offer them except your brokenness.

So today, take a moment to think about your tribe.

Who can you call at 3 a.m.?

Who will stand beside you when the storms come?

Who will pray with you when you can’t find the words to pray for yourself?

And just as importantly, whose name would appear on their phone if they needed someone at 3 a.m.?

If you have those people, thank God for them. Don’t take them for granted.

If you’re still searching for your tribe, don’t give up hope. Keep showing up. Keep loving people. Keep building genuine relationships. Sometimes, the family God gives us is the family we find along the way.

And if you know someone who is walking through a storm alone, don’t wait for them to ask for help. Reach out. Make the call. Send the text. Show up.

BE SOMEBODY’S 3 A.M. PHONE CALL. BE SOMEBODY’S TRIBE. BE THE REASON SOMEONE REMEMBERS THAT THEY ARE NOT ALONE.

Because when the storms of life come, we don’t need more spectators.

We need people willing to stand in the storm with us.

And church, isn’t that what we’re called to do?

To love one another. To carry one another’s burdens. To encourage the weary. To stand beside the brokenhearted.

Let’s stop being a church that simply tells people to have faith and become a church that demonstrates faith through action.

Life is hard. Storms are real. And none of us was meant to walk through this life alone.

Keep loving. Keep showing up. Keep praying. Keep overcoming.

And never underestimate what God can do through one person who refuses to walk away when everyone else does.

A PRAYER FOR OUR TRIBES

Lord Jesus, thank You for the people You place in our lives who stand beside us when the storms come. Help us recognize those relationships, nurture them, and never take them for granted. Teach us to be the kind of friends who answer the call, carry one another’s burdens, and love without conditions. Show us who might be hurting in silence and give us the courage to reach out. May we become Your hands and feet to a world that desperately needs to know it isn’t alone. In the powerful and precious name of Jesus. Amen.

ONE LAST QUESTION: WHO IS YOUR TRIBE, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHOSE TRIBE ARE YOU? ~OC

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Human-The Soundtrack Of My ICU Battle

Sometimes God speaks through a sermon.

Sometimes through Scripture.

Sometimes through another person.

And sometimes… He speaks through a piano.

While I was lying in an ICU room at a local hospital, fighting for my life, Tommee Profitt’s new project, Human, was released.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

As many of you know, things did not look good.

This was the second time this year that I had been hospitalized and found myself fighting for my life. There were moments when the road ahead looked incredibly uncertain.

But while I was lying there in that ICU room, I put Human on repeat.

Over and over.

And over again.

Human is, in many ways, a simple project—beautiful instrumental pieces centered around the piano. There are no complicated words. No elaborate message being preached through lyrics.

Just music.

But somehow, those piano notes said everything I needed to hear.

That album didn’t just become background music in my hospital room.

It ministered to me.

It brought peace into a room filled with machines, monitors, alarms, medications, uncertainty and fear.

And something else happened that I didn’t expect.

It touched the people who walked through that ICU door.

Doctors.

Nurses.

Hospital staff.

Family.

Friends.

People would come into my room while Human was playing, and for a few moments, the atmosphere seemed to change.

The music became part of the story.

Part of the battle.

Part of the healing.

For me, Human will forever be connected to those ICU days.

Not because the album saved me.

God did.

Not because music performed a miracle.

God did.

Not because I somehow fought my way back on my own.

God carried me.

Today, I’m home.

I’m recovering.

And my new medical team is amazed at how far I’ve come.

After everything that happened, I don’t take that for granted.

All praise, honor and glory belong to God.

He never left my side.

Not in the ICU.

Not in the darkest moments.

Not when things looked impossible.

Not when I was fighting for my life.

And not now that I’m home.

He was there through every breath, every prayer, every tear, every medical treatment and every uncertain moment.

And I’m incredibly thankful.

I’m also thankful for artists like Tommee Profitt, whose music became an unexpected companion during one of the hardest battles of my life.

Especially Human.

Sometimes we don’t realize how powerful a gift we’ve been given until it finds us at exactly the moment we need it most.

For me, Human found me in an ICU room.

And I will never hear those piano notes the same way again.

They will always remind me of a battle I survived…

A God who never abandoned me…

And another chapter in this crazy, beautiful journey called life.

I’m home.

I’m still standing.

I’m still fighting.

I’m still overcoming.

And most importantly…

God is still writing my story.

May you have a beautiful, peaceful and blessed day.

And wherever you are today, whatever you’re facing, remember this:

You are not alone.

Keep fighting.

Keep believing.

Keep overcoming.

And never forget who is carrying you through the battle.

Jesus.

~OC

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The Mountain

Is God is calling you to climb a mountain?

You’ve been staring at this mountain long enough.

The diagnosis.
The disappointment.
The betrayal.
The loss.
The fear.
The rejection.
The impossible situation.

And somewhere along the way, you started believing that because the mountain is BIG, your God must be small.

NO.

Caleb stood at 85 years old and looked at a mountain filled with giants and said:

“GIVE ME THIS MOUNTAIN.”

Not give me an easier assignment.
Not give me a different battle.
Not wait until the circumstances improve.

Give me this mountain.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Faith that doesn’t collapse when circumstances change.

Faith that doesn’t disappear when the answer doesn’t come quickly.

Faith that doesn’t need everything to make sense before it takes another step.

I will walk in the confidence of God- regardless of the mountain standing in front of me.

Because my confidence isn’t in my circumstances.

My confidence is in Jesus.

The mountain doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The diagnosis doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The storm doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The enemy doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

God is always faithful. Period.

So bring me the mountain.

Bring me the thing that scares me.

Bring me the thing that makes me realize I can’t do this in my own strength.

Because when I reach the place where I can’t, I discover the place where He can.

I don’t need to understand the entire journey.

I just need enough faith to take the next step.

One More Step.

When I’m tired—one more step.
When I’m afraid—one more step.
When I’m hurting—one more step.
When I can’t see the way forward—one more step.

Not because I’m strong enough.

Because Jesus is.

And hear me clearly:

I am not backing down.

I am not bowing to fear.
I am not surrendering to circumstances.
I am not allowing yesterday to dictate tomorrow.

God, give me this mountain.

Because I know who walks with me.

His name is Jesus.

The One who walked out of the grave.
The One who conquered death.
The One who holds my future.
The One who has never abandoned me.
The One who is still Lord when everything around me is falling apart.

I don’t need the mountain to be smaller.
I need my faith to become bigger.

So, Jesus…

Give me this mountain.

Give me the courage to climb it.
Give me the faith to face it.
Give me the strength to endure it.
Give me the perseverance to finish it.

And when I reach the top, I won’t take the credit.

I will point everyone to you.

Because I didn’t overcome because I was strong.

I overcame because Jesus was with me every step of the way.

The mountain may be big.
The battle may be real.
The circumstances may be brutal.

But Jesus is still Lord.

And if Jesus is with me—

I will keep on climbing.

Give me the mountain.
Give me Jesus.
and let’s go.

“Now therefore, give me this mountain…” — Joshua 14:12

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Tomorrow’s

No One Knows How Many Tomorrow’s Are In A Lifetime…

So I’ve stopped taking them for granted.

That’s one of the greatest lessons chronic illness has ever taught me.

For more than two decades, I’ve lived with something most people don’t see.

Behind the smiles are hospital rooms.

Behind the laughter are tears.

Behind the encouraging words are moments of fear that I’ve never shared with anyone.

There have been nights when I’ve laid in a hospital bed listening to the machines around me, wondering what tomorrow would look like.

There have been moments when I had to confront something none of us really want to think about:

I could die.

Not someday in some distant future.

But maybe sooner than I thought.

When death becomes more than a word—when it becomes a possibility sitting at the foot of your hospital bed—it changes the way you see everything.

You stop worrying so much about things that don’t matter.

You start caring more about the people you love.

You become grateful for things you once overlooked.

A sunrise.

A conversation.

A laugh.

A hug.

Another morning.

Another breath.

Another chance to tell someone, “I love you.”

Another opportunity to say, “Jesus has been good to me.”

Chronic illness has forced me to stretch the limits of my faith.

There have been moments when faith was the only thing I had left.

And sometimes my faith wasn’t strong.

Sometimes all I could whisper was:

“Jesus, please get me through tonight.”

And somehow, He did.

Not always by changing my circumstances.

But by changing me in the middle of them.

I’ve learned that thriving with chronic illness doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay.

It doesn’t mean putting a smile on your face and hiding the pain.

It means being honest enough to say,

“This hurts.”

“I’m scared.”

“I’m tired.”

“I don’t understand.”

…and then somehow finding enough faith to say,

“But God, I’m still trusting You.”

That’s where writing came into my life.

During those long hospital stays, when the hours seemed to crawl by, I started writing simply to pass the time.

I didn’t know what it would become.

I just knew I had emotions trapped inside of me that needed somewhere to go.

So I wrote.

I wrote when I was scared.

I wrote when I was angry.

I wrote when I was hurting.

I wrote when I was grateful.

I wrote when I couldn’t understand what God was doing.

And I wrote when I needed to remind myself that God was still there.

Eventually, writing became a daily habit.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something:

Maybe these words aren’t just for me.

Maybe that hospital bed wasn’t only a place where I was fighting for my own life.

Maybe it was also a place where God was teaching me how to speak hope into someone else’s.

Because somewhere out there, someone is sitting in a hospital room tonight.

Someone is staring at a diagnosis they never expected.

Someone is crying where nobody can see them.

Someone is terrified about tomorrow.

Someone is wondering if their life still has meaning.

Someone is asking God,

“Why am I still here?”

And if my words can reach even one of those people and whisper,

“Please don’t give up. You’re not alone.”

then maybe the pain wasn’t completely wasted.

That’s what I’ve come to understand about purpose.

Sometimes purpose doesn’t come wrapped in something beautiful.

Sometimes purpose comes wrapped in pain.

Sometimes God takes the chapters we would have gladly erased and uses them to write hope into somebody else’s story.

I wouldn’t have chosen this journey.

I wouldn’t have chosen the illnesses.

I wouldn’t have chosen the hospital stays.

I wouldn’t have chosen the fear.

I wouldn’t have chosen the uncertainty.

But I can choose what I do with it.

I can let it destroy me.

Or I can place it in God’s hands and say,

“Use this, Lord.”

Use my scars.

Use my tears.

Use my failures.

Use my fears.

Use my story.

Use every broken piece of me.

Just don’t let my suffering be meaningless.

Because I don’t know how many pages are left in my story.

And neither do you.

That’s the truth we don’t like to talk about.

Every one of us is living on borrowed time.

We just don’t know how much time is left.

So I’m trying to stop counting the years…

and start counting the moments.

I’m trying to embrace the time God gives me instead of being consumed by the time I don’t have.

I’m trying to live while I’m alive.

To love while I can.

To forgive while I can.

To encourage while I can.

To write while I can.

To tell people about Jesus while I can.

To leave a little more hope in this world than I found.

Because one day, all of us will write our final sentence.

And when that day comes, I don’t want my greatest regret to be all the things I was too afraid to do.

I want to know that I used what God gave me.

That I loved people.

That I encouraged people.

That I prayed for people. 

That I made somebody feel less alone.

That I pointed somebody toward Jesus.

That I didn’t allow my illness to steal the purpose and joy God placed inside of me.

So…

I will keep writing.

Even when my hands are tired.

Even when my heart is heavy.

Even when my thoughts are harder to find.

Even when the words come through tears.

Because there is still something inside of me that needs to be said.

And there is still somebody who may need to hear it.

I don’t know how many tomorrows I have.

But I have today.

And today is enough.

Today, I can love.

Today, I can pray.

Today, I can encourage.

Today, I can write.

Today, I can live.

Today, I can tell somebody,

“Don’t give up.”

And today, I can look toward Heaven and say:

“Thank You, God, for one more day.”

I don’t know how my story ends.

But I know Who holds the pen.

And until He writes “The End,”

I’m going to keep turning the page…and live. ~OC

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Good Morning!

Today’s a new day!

I have some wonderful news to share this morning!

I was transferred out of the ICU late last night, and I am now on the Neurology floor of the hospital. Yesterday, I completed my fourth treatment, and I have just one more treatment Saturday morning. If everything continues to go as planned, I should be heading HOME shortly after treatment on Saturday.

This week, my medical team shared just how close I came to not being here today. Those words were difficult to hear, but they also remind me just how precious every single day truly is.

And once again, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. 

To everyone who prayed, sent messages, visited, checked in, encouraged us, stood with us, and lifted us before the Lord—Laura and I are so incredibly grateful.

God heard your prayers.

God answered your prayers.

And I believe with all my heart that God is not finished with me yet. 

There is still a purpose for my life. There is still work to do. There are still people to love, lives to touch, and stories of God’s faithfulness to share.

Once again, Laura and I are deeply grateful for every prayer and every person who has walked alongside us through this journey.

God is good. All the time.

I pray that each and every one of you has a beautiful, blessed, and God-filled day. Never take today for granted. Today is a gift.

Keep praying. Keep believing. Keep overcoming.~OC

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We’re All Living on Borrowed Time

Here’s a truth we don’t always want to think about:

Every one of us is living on borrowed time.

We may not all have the same diagnosis, the same number of years, or the same circumstances—but none of us knows how many days we have left.

Scripture reminds us, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12

So the question isn’t simply “How much time do I have?”

The bigger question is:

“What am I going to do with the time God has given me?”

Are you going to spend it holding grudges—or choosing forgiveness?

Are you going to chase things that won’t matter in eternity—or invest in people who will?

Are you going to keep waiting for the perfect moment—or start living with purpose today?

Are you going to complain about what you’ve lost—or thank God for what you still have?

Are you going to keep putting off that phone call, that hug, that apology, that act of kindness, that step of faith?

None of us is promised tomorrow.

But today is a gift.

Every breath is an opportunity.

Every sunrise is another invitation to love, serve, encourage, forgive, worship, and make a difference.

We are not guaranteed unlimited time.

We are guaranteed this moment.

So don’t waste the life you have wishing for the life you think you should have had.

Take the time God has placed in your hands and use it for something that matters.

Love deeply.

Forgive freely.

Serve faithfully.

Speak life.

Encourage somebody.

Tell your family you love them.

Help someone who is hurting.

Share your faith.

Make memories.

And above all, live for Jesus.

Because one day, our borrowed time will be over.

My prayer is that when that day comes, we won’t have to wonder whether we truly lived.

Let’s live a life that mattered.
Let’s leave footprints of faith, hope, love, and grace.
Let’s make every remaining day count.

Your time is a gift. What are you deciding to do with it? ~OC

#LiveWithPurpose #MakeEveryDayCount #Faith #Hope #Love #Jesus #Overcomer #LifeOfSignificance

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Mud, Spit and the American Church

Today’s a new day!

I grew up in a different generation.

We played in the dirt until the streetlights came on. We climbed trees, rode our bikes without helmets, scraped our knees, and somehow survived. We came home covered in mud, sweat, and stories.

If you had something on your face, chances are your mom or grandma would lick her thumb or use a little spit to wipe it away before anyone else noticed. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was an act of love. Nobody thought twice about it.

It was a simpler time.

I also grew up in churches where pastors weren’t trying to become celebrities. They weren’t worried about likes, followers, or building a personal brand. They opened the Bible, preached the truth, called people to repentance, and pointed everyone to Jesus. Sometimes the sermons made you uncomfortable. Sometimes they stepped on your toes. But you left knowing you had encountered God’s Word, not just another motivational speech.

Today, so much has changed.

Many children rarely play outside. Screens have replaced backyards. Adventure has been traded for entertainment.

Many parents would never imagine using spit to clean a child’s face. We’ve become increasingly concerned with appearances, convenience, and comfort.

And sadly, much of the American Church has changed too.

Far too many pulpits have exchanged the Gospel for self-improvement.

Messages about sin have been replaced with messages about success. Repentance has been replaced with positive thinking. The cross has been overshadowed by personal branding. 

Instead of shepherds feeding the flock, many churches have become stages where personalities perform.

People leave feeling inspired—but not transformed.

Yet when I read Scripture, I find something fascinating.

Jesus wasn’t afraid of mud.

In fact, one of His miracles involved making mud with His own saliva.

He spit on the ground, mixed the dirt into mud, placed it on a blind man’s eyes, and told him to go wash. When the man obeyed, he came back seeing.

Think about that for a moment.

The Creator of the universe could have simply spoken a word.

Instead, He chose mud.

He chose spit.

Something ordinary.

Something people might even consider offensive.

Because God has always been in the business of using unlikely things to display His glory.

The Gospel itself is offensive to human pride.

It tells us we cannot save ourselves.

It tells us we must die to ourselves.

It tells us that forgiveness came through a bloody cross.

None of that fits neatly into today’s culture of comfort and self-esteem.

But it is still the power of God.

The American Church doesn’t need better marketing.

It doesn’t need cooler stages.

It doesn’t need more polished personalities.

It needs pastors who love truth more than applause.

It needs believers who desire holiness more than popularity.

It needs people who are willing to get their hands dirty serving others instead of polishing their own image.

Maybe we’ve become so obsessed with looking clean that we’ve forgotten the One who still isn’t afraid to kneel in the dirt.

Jesus still meets broken people.

He still restores blind eyes.

He still heals wounded hearts.

He still calls sinners to Himself.

The method may not always look impressive.

The process may not always be comfortable.

But His power hasn’t changed.

Perhaps it’s time for the Church to stop trying to impress the culture and start looking more like Christ again.

Maybe what we need isn’t another life coach with a Bible verse.

Maybe we need shepherds who will faithfully preach the whole counsel of God-even when it’s unpopular. 

Maybe we need believers who aren’t afraid of a little mud if it means someone finally sees Jesus. 

Because sometimes, God still chooses mud.

Sometimes, He still uses spit. 

And He has always used ordinary people surrendered to an extraordinary Savior. 

Lord, may Your Church once again become known—not for its polish, but for its faithfulness. Give us courage to speak truth with love, humility to serve without recognition, and hearts that care more about Your glory than our comfort. Amen. ~OC

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